


King of Carrot Flowers

by foxwedding



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Multi, Sibling Incest, Slurs, Statutory Rape, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-19 10:16:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18134450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxwedding/pseuds/foxwedding
Summary: "Klaus was fourteen and he wanted the world at his feet.  Longing was a keening animal pushing out from within his body, the thralls of puberty pulling him taut in every direction. He wanted to run, to fight, to fuck. God, he wanted to fuck."Klaus's fall from grace through the lens of his relationship with Diego.  No actual incest here, just an unrequited crush. Or, a more realistic take on how the Academy's upbringing would impact Klaus's notions of romance.





	1. Klaus

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from King of Carrot Flowers Pt.1 by Neutral Milk Hotel. 
> 
> Everyone in this fandom is so polarized by the incest in TUA. In reality, sibling incest can occur as a result of severe childhood trauma, which is pretty much how I'd characterize their upbringing. So, I think this is kind of a realistic take on how that upbringing would effect Klaus's notions of romance.

Klaus was fourteen and he wanted the world at his feet. Longing was a keening animal pushing out from within his body, the thralls of puberty pulling him taut in every direction. He wanted to run, to fight, to fuck. God, he wanted to fuck.

A novel sort of stress had overtaken his thoughts lately, had crept up on him between the unceasing wails of the dead and the physical battery of back-to-back missions. The problem presented itself explicitly to Klaus one night, after a routine session of hand-to-hand combat training.

Klaus and Alison were paired off for these exercises, as Klaus had yet to fill out like his brothers. His lankier frame was better pitted against Alison's lithe graceful one, the two of them dodging one another's kicks as if dancing. The other two-thirds of the training room were dominated by Diego and Ben tag-teaming to try and overpower Luther. 

Over the cacophony of their brothers' grunting and shouting, the two of them traded easy quips:

"You look like a rentboy in all that eyeliner. Subtlety is virtue, Klaus."

"Bold of you to lecture me on virtue, sister dear. I'll tone it down when you stop double bra-ing that shit," he returned, with a pointed glance at her chest. It was a low blow, and he knew it. Their constant physical training didn't lend itself to a more voluptuous female form, such as the one Vanya was starting to exhibit. Klaus often caught Alison eyeing the front of their sister's blouse, then frowning down at her own chest with anxiety.

A particularly hard kick to his Achilles heels sent Klaus to the mat. He grimaced as the impact stole his breath for the few precious moments it took for Alison to swing one leg over his thighs, pinning him with a straddle. Klaus struggled fruitlessly for a few seconds before falling back limply. He knew when to cut his losses. 

Catching his breath, he waggled his eyebrows up at his sister.

"You know, we need to stop meeting like this," he purred out with a cheshire grin.

"I heard a rumor that you stopped being such a dipshit," Alison threw back breathlessly, but there was no intent behind it. Klaus's grin widened.

"No chance. My knowledge of stock phrases is limitless, it's my secondary power. That, and I can recite every Vincent Price line from The Fly. Chronologically," he added for emphasis. Alison sighed and took the bit.

"What an utterly useless power."

"Yeah, I specialize in those," he groaned out. He let his head fall to one side to observe their brothers. Ben and Diego were panting, hands on knees, heads bent towards each other as they strategized in hoarse whispers. Luther, also looking worse for wear, was frowning back at Klaus, eyeing his and Alison's position with suspicion. 

Klaus snorted and internally rolled his eyes. As if there was anyone in the whole goddamn academy that didn't know that Luther and Alison had quasi-romantic claims on one another. He patted Alison's leg in concession and she helped him up easily. In the corner of his vision, he caught Luther approaching them, an indication that group training was finished for the evening. Alison fell into step with Luther as he passed, the two of them hip-checking each other all the way to the showers. Klaus shuttered with faint disgust, turning away from the golden duo and towards Diego and Ben, who were hobbling over to him.

Ben shook his head, nodding towards the doors that Alison and Luther had just exited. "So gross. Just- so gross." Klaus scoffed in agreement.

Diego tilted his head to rub out one shoulder, one eyebrow lifted like he couldn't be bothered to comment. Klaus suddenly wondered if maybe Diego looked at Alison in the same way that Luther did. In his gut, the thought niggled at him.

Later, on his way back from the showers, he passed by the open door to Diego's room. His brother was midway through the motion of pulling his training shirt over his head, unable to see Klaus. His slender waist was lightly muscled, a thin line of dark hair creeping up from under his athletic shorts up towards his belly button. Klaus blinked once, twice, and then continued to his own room. There was strange, vague sort of guilt unsettling his stomach, which he knew had nothing to do with the dead woman in corner of his room, her head wrenched an unnatural angle. At least she was one of the quiet ones, her hair tied back, her demure ensemble complete with an apron. Klaus turned away, but made sure to take a full sleeping pill that night, rather than the half-pill he was prescribed.

When Klaus awoke, he was gasping and flushed, hard and sweating under the stifling comforter. He couldn't remember the specifics of his dream, but he could remember enough. A warm body- a man's. Not Diego, but close enough in appearance to leave no room for doubt. Curled in fetal, he squeezed both legs together, pleading with his body to cease its reaction.

In the corner of the room, there was a different woman this time. But same crooked neck, same sort of prim outfit. She was crying out at him, her face contorted in grief and desperation. Through the haze lent by his sleeping pill, her words were garbled and muted, as if he was hearing them underwater. 

It was all too much, and Klaus turned his back on her, rolling over to cry quietly into his pillow.

__________________________________________________________________________

 

It was like this: In an abstract sense, Klaus was aware his preference was mainly for men. But in the same way that he knew that he couldn't stop biting his nails, or that one of his legs was slightly longer than the other, it was just another fact about himself that had no bearing in his day-to-day life. It bothered him vaguely, a problem that had been never addressed simply because he'd never been explicitly confronted with it.

And now, he was becoming slowly accosted by his reality, his siblings' realities: cooped up, day-in and day-out, with only each other and the forced intimacy that accompanies birds of just one kind of feather. And Klaus, the odder-one-out still of the six of them. 

His power, useless in combat. Himself, useless to control it unaided. His personality- well.

And then one afternoon, sitting among his brothers as they played Fuck-Marry-Kill about the female cast members of Friends, Klaus looked into the future and saw how it would all play out: he'd never tell them. Ever. He'd lie until the end of time, because he was stuck with only them, forever and always. And, maybe, like Luther and Alison had, he'd turn his eyes onto his siblings, his own brothers, forever stealing glimpses and pining like a Bronte heroine. 

Unbidden, the word 'faggot' floated up from the depths of his subconscious. He'd heard the word before- never from his own siblings- but from being about the city during missions. A feeling, ugly and raw, drove twisting through his core. Not for the first time, Klaus wished to switch places with Five, wherever he might have been. Even if that place was in the ground. At least he'd got out.

As the weeks went by, the sleeping pills became less and less effective, and the ghosts more and more tangible. Between nightly terrors and guilt-fueled dreams, Klaus was becoming taut and thin, like one of the strings on Vanya's violin. He coped with progressively more flamboyant antics- dressing in Alison's clothing, cat-walking in his mother's heels, a little flirting with the early stages of alcoholism. 

Each time he upped the ante, finding that the more he acted out, the more he was dismissed. It was a constant ebb and flow: Pogo noticed bottles going missing from the bar? Klaus paraded the hallways in tighty-whities and roller skates. Ben and Luther discovered him vomiting into one of the potted plants? Klaus batted his eyelashes lasciviously until they turned away in disgust. Dad locked him in his room after he'd drunkenly passed out mid-mission? Klaus pilfered a treasured Hargreeves banner, make-shifting a rope ladder and escaping the building.

It wasn't that these incidents didn't go unnoticed by his siblings. It was just that they were all fourteen, each of them trying to hold themselves together under the insurmountable burden of social isolation, paternal domination, and the expectations that accompanied hero-status. 

Luther was slowly hardening under the unrelenting thumb of their father. Alison, trying to find her role and stake her worthiness in their male-dominated household. Diego was contending with being the runner-up to Luther, while constantly torn between their mother and father. Of all of them, Ben struggled with the most grace. He consistently got his hands dirtier than the rest of them during missions, which afforded him a sullen, cynical demeanor. And Vanya, the one always left over and out, unable to relate to their unique struggles. All of this left Klaus to his own devices, for better or worse.

_________________________________________________________________

 

In late October and mid-election season, the Hargreeves were guests of honor at the governor's fall gala, a feat which pleased their father greatly. All seven of them were fitted with black-tie attire: the boys with stiff black suit jackets, pressed trousers, and patent leather loafers, while Vanya and Alison got kitten heels and modest dresses that were cut high at the neck and lower in the back. Klaus eyed the girls enviously as he tugged at the Windsor knot around his collar.

The affair was stiflingly prim, the palatial manor decked out in overt display of political prowess. Klaus knew at some point in the night, he and his siblings would be called forth to demonstrate their skills in front of the other guests, trotted out like performing monkeys.

The governor was a statuesque man in his fifties with plastic smile and an overly-botoxed forehead. Beside him, a Stepford wife and all-American looking son. Behind them, a sickly, pale young woman with matted hair and a collar of purple bruises. Klaus suspected only he could see that last one. He idly wondered which family member had been responsible, before immediately scoping out the open bar.

Once they had settled in, Alison, Luther, and Diego had immediately grouped together, distinguishing themselves as the alpha trio as they flounced into the crowd to mingle with adoring adults. Klaus, Ben, and Vanya migrated towards one corner of the room, Klaus subtly trying to push them closer to the bar. The three of them had a comfortable dynamic: Ben and Vanya discussing academics with ease and Klaus chiming in for comedic interludes.

As the evening progressed, Klaus noticed a sharp uptake in the number of dead in the room. He bit at one nail incessantly, his foot beginning to jitter with unease. Fucking politicians, he thought, and eyed the bartender with increasing interest. Ben noticed the shift in Klaus's behavior, tugging on his jacket sleeve to draw back his attention.

"Let's go find a quieter room," he suggested, Vanya nodding her head in concern and agreement. But Klaus had already committed to his vice.

"No, no I'll be fine," he tried to reassure them. He'd spotted a tray of delicate martinis near the kitchen door, obviously waiting for a caterer to come by and distribute them. Bingo. "I'll catch up with you guys in a minute," he continued, ignoring their complaints and stalking toward his goal with unflinching focus. He absconded away with two glasses, one in each hand, and continued into a narrow hallway without pause. 

Once in the privacy of the hall, he flicked the olives out of both glasses with disgust and downed the first glass in a series of resolute gulps, holding his breath as he did so. He dispensed the empty glass onto a nearby table and then perched himself atop a set of antique drawers, leaning his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes. Maybe he could sleep through this gala. He had one finger running the rim of the second martini glass, its coolness soothing him.

"Wow. You really continue to outdo yourself." 

Klaus opened his eyes to Diego. His brother stood before him, hands in the pockets of his dress trousers, looking as exhausted by this gala ordeal as Klaus felt. It struck Klaus that his brother looked rather grown up in his black suit and tie.

"This entire spectacle is an affront to my character," Klaus drawled, grimacing again behind a sip of martini. He couldn't be sure what was in the drink, only that it tasted like brine and air freshener. When he stole from the bar back home, he usually picked the sweetest, most palatable alcohol he could find. It was no matter: Klaus was positive that he was the height of sophistication with the drink in his hand, which was all that counted. That, and it was going to banish the dead. Diego eyed the drink with poorly masked intrigue. 

"Go on, have a sip, Di," he purred, delighted with the idea of corrupting his brother. A couple of caterers passed by them in the hallway, carrying trays laden with glasses of wine and colorful cocktails.

Diego glanced around quickly before lifting the drink out of Klaus's clammy fingers. He sniffed it once before taking a tentative sip, then almost immediately clapping his hand over his mouth to avoid spitting it out. Klaus watched as Diego forced himself to swallow, hunching over to hide his spluttering. 

"Oh god! The fuck is that? Drain cleaner?" His face was red when he stood back up. Klaus peered down into the glass.

"Might be," he muttered. "But if you get enough of it in you, you'll start to feel reeeaaal nice." Klaus punctuated this statement with a large gulp, holding eye contact with his brother over the rim of the glass. He hoped his face didn't betray the way his throat was working to spit it right back up. 

And because Diego never could back down from a challenge, he lifted his own martini from a passing waitress's tray, giving her a boyish smile when it looked like she'd object. Klaus scoffed incredulously when she backed away with a nervous chuckle and a blush.

"Cheers, Klaus," he grinned, a bit sloshing over the rim of the glass as he thrust the drink towards his brother. Klaus rolled his eyes but reached out to tap Diego's glass with his own, feeling giddy and grown-up. Together, they raced to see who could choke down his drink more quickly. Klaus won, but only because he'd had a head start to begin with.

After, they walked around the lesser populated rooms of the manor until time became syrupy, the harsh edges of Klaus's anxiety finally softening. Beside him, Diego was feeling similarly, as indicated by his flushed face and easy smile. Klaus snickered, the sweetness of that grin had his insides fluttering.

"This is all such bullshit," Diego announced, before swiping a pad of sticky notes from a nearby ornate desk. With an expensive fountain pen, he sketched out a rough dick, before peeling and planting it on the underside of the desk. Klaus quite literally gasped in delight. They spent the next half-hour covertly hiding phallic images around the room, Klaus seeking out crevices and Diego placing the sticky notes with the same precision that he deployed tracking bugs.

"A stunning application of our recon training, Di," Klaus announced once he'd peeled the last note from the pad. Diego smiled slyly back, and the expression made Klaus feel off-center.

"Gov's a prick. Now his office matches his personality." Diego leaned back against a chaise lounge, his grin a wide row of white teeth, lips pulled into smirk. He threw an arm up around Klaus's shoulders, reeling Klaus in beside him. 

Klaus glowed with the camaraderie of rebellion. Having the entirety of Diego's attention warmed him. It was a satisfaction he'd chased throughout their childhood. Typically, Diego was too preoccupied pitting himself against Luther. As such, the moments between Klaus and Diego were increasingly rare, despite them being the two siblings most wont to rebel against their father. Although, in the back of his mind, Klaus sensed that the type of attention he wanted from Diego was altogether a different type than that Diego gave Luther. The acknowledgment made Klaus feel sick.

As if on cue, Luther came marching into the room, eyes lighting upon the duo with exasperation. Klaus felt Diego stiffen beside him.

"Di, come on. Dad wants us to give a demonstration." The words were gruff and to-the-point. "We've been looking for you."

"But not me?" Klaus asked with slight outrage. He could feel the moment between Diego and himself slide away into the ether, leaving him cold and unanchored.

Luther sighed. "Klaus, you've been drinking. We all know it."

Klaus bit back the impulse to inform Luther that Diego had also, in fact, been drinking. But he thought better of it. He knew where the blame would fall for that one. Instead, he watched as Diego heaved himself up and trotted after Luther. Klaus sighed and scuffed the toe of his loafer on the polished hardwood floor.

Later, while his siblings were, no doubt, dazzling the other party-goers, the governor's all-American looking son swooped down beside him. 

"Hey," he greeted lazily. "You're one of the umbrella kids, yeah?" His grin was sharp and bright on his handsome face. He looked to be about twenty.

Klaus was startled, discretely checking his surroundings to confirm that the man was, indeed, talking to Klaus. He nodded back.

"Yeepp," he drawled, letting the 'p' pop at the end. The man was peering at him with a hungry intensity that frightened and excited Klaus.

"So, what can you do?" the man asked, though the teasing in his inflection suggested to Klaus that he already knew. 

"I see dead people." Klaus tossed back defiantly. The man widened his eyes in mock fear.

"Scary," he whispered, shaking his head with heavy air of facetiousness. Klaus got the sudden impression that this man was mocking him, trying to make him unsure of himself. In response, Klaus bristled and plucked the glass of wine right out of the man's hands. He swallowed it back while holding eye contact.

"Thanks," he whispered, placing the empty glass back into the man's hands. Klaus scowled when he simply chuckled. What a prick.

"Jared," he said simply, holding out his hand for Klaus to take. Klaus rolled his eyes.

"Number Four," he bit out, "just an absolute pleasure to meet you, Jared." Jared's grin widened, sharklike.

"You know, you have a little more bite than your siblings." The words caused an unexpected flush of pleasure in Klaus. He hated himself for it. "I like it," the man continued. Klaus couldn't stop himself from blushing. He averted his gaze to his shoes, and then back up at the man from beneath his eyelashes.

"Thanks," he murmured shyly. It was a foreign feeling to Klaus. He moved to stand a little straighter, frowning when he needed to catch himself on the man's jacket sleeve. The combination of martini and wine was doing him in.

"Uh, sorry. I've had a bit." Klaus chuckled with embarrassment. 

"Yeah, you kind of like to party, huh?" Jared responded, unconcerned. "Come with me, I'll grab us some food." He caught Klaus's wrist, thumb swiping gently, back and forth over his pulse point. Klaus capitulated.

"Yeah alright, I- " 

"Klaus! Come on, we're leaving!" It was Ben, walking towards them quickly, frowning at his wrist where it was caught in Jared's hand. Klaus bit the inside of his cheek with an unexpected surge of disappointment. He turned to Jared, who was still smiling down at him.

"Sorry, I guess that's my ride."

"No worries. Here, take this," Jared slid a folded cocktail napkin into Klaus's palm. "Give me a call if you wanna hang out." He winked, released Klaus's wrist, and disappeared back into the throng of guests.

Ben steered Klaus back to where their siblings and father were waiting by the coat-check in the foyer.

"Who the fuck was that?" Ben asked, concern evident in his tone.

"Jared. Kind of a prick." The world was spinning slightly off axis for Klaus. He opened the napkin. "Hey look! He gave me his number!" 

"Who gave you their number?" Diego had appeared at their side, frowning.

"Gov's son," Klaus preened, enthused by this turn of events.

"What? How old is he? Like thirty?" Diego's tone was less than delighted.

"No, Diego, like twenty." It was taking a little more effort to articulate his words. Strange.

Ben cut straight to the heart of the matter: "You gonna call him?"

"Dunno, maybe," Klaus admitted shyly.

"Whatever, just be careful." Ever the practical one, Ben was.

Klaus passed out during the car ride home, his head heavy on Vanya's shoulders. Once home, Luther carried him to his bed when he couldn't be roused.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Later, Klaus would identify the gala as the pivotal occurrence that precipitated a long, slow fall from grace.

Klaus sought deliverance from their home life through Jared, who was more than happy to satisfy Klaus's cravings for running, for fighting, for fucking. With Jared, Klaus felt the world at his fingertips as he was dragged, first weekly, then twice weekly, then nightly, through the city to underground clubs and warehouse raves. Jared kept him supplied with a rainbow of pills, taking his payment from Klaus's young, lithe body.

And even when their relationship was unearthed by his father, who threatened to charge the governor's son with statutory rape, even when the scandal went public, outing Klaus to his siblings, even when Ben was torn apart by his demons, Klaus maintained his place on top of the world. After all, he was only ever one pill, one hit, one fuck away from salvation.

But then, the day he'd left the academy, not to return for twelve years:

Klaus was stumbling back to his room near dawn, his body littered with glitter, bruises, and bites. He couldn't remember the details of the night, per say, but evidence suggested that it had been a good one. 

He careened right into Diego, freshly awoken and on his way to the training room.

"Hey brother!" Klaus sing-songed, aiming for sotto-voce, but most likely failing spectacularly. "Getting ready to suck the day's dick?"

Diego's breath left him as he took in Klaus's state. He leaned closer, frowning at his brother's collar and neck.

"Jesus," he whispered, just shy of horrified. Suddenly, Klaus didn't want to be anywhere near Diego. He was still trying to enjoy the last vestiges of this high.

"I know, right?" Klaus grinned. "I look like a Pollock painting. Feel like one, too." He tried to back away, but Diego's hand shot out and held Klaus's upper arm in a firm grip.

"I don't understand, Klaus." Diego tone was turning angry. It made Klaus nervous.

"What's there to understand?"

"I don't- who did this to you? Do you even know?" Diego gestured up and down Klaus's body. "I mean, just, how?" The tone was laden with accusation, and worse, pity. Klaus felt like a trapped and wounded animal.

"Why? Did you want a go, too?" The words were blasé in tone, but Klaus's expression was hard. He didn't know why he'd just said that.

Diego lurched backwards with an expression as if he'd just been slapped. For a split second, Klaus felt that he might be sick all over the hallway. Then Diego turned ugly.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you like this? Do you like keeping us worried while you run off to get fucked into oblivion?"

Klaus swallowed. They worried about him?

"You're such a selfish bastard. We've already lost Five and Ben, and now you're going to go ahead and make the rest of us lose another brother."

Klaus opened his mouth, but no words seemed to be coming forth. A sensation of guilt was relentlessly crushing his chest, stronger than he'd ever felt it.

"You know what? Don't bother, Klaus. If this is how you want to kill yourself, at least don't make the rest of us watch."

Klaus watched as Diego turned his back on him, disappearing down the hall. And then Klaus himself turned around and walked out the front doors.


	2. Diego

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diego taking metaphorical control over his life, learning to play hero, and getting kicked out of the academy in the process, all through the lens of his relationship with Klaus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a partner piece to the last chapter. While the last one was more of a character study based in realism, this is character study based more on head canon.

Diego was nineteen and the whole world was an omnipotent predator. As far back as he could remember, he'd been perched on a wire above its gaping jaws, the world waiting for him to slip so that it could gobble up his choices and spit him out broken. When they were thirteen, he'd watched as Five tried to go head-to-head with it, only to slip away into the ether, between the cracks of time and space. He'd watched as it took Ben when they were seventeen, mangled him from the inside-out by the creatures he'd unwilling housed. He'd watched as it ravished Klaus, taking his sweet, sensitive brother and contorting him into a starving, pleasure-driven animal.

Lately, Luther and he were at each other's literal throats. There were only three of them left to undertake missions: Luther, Alison, and himself. Admittedly, as a trio, their strategy was tight, and they were able to make up for the loss of their three other team members. But Diego could see that Alison was beginning to crack, and he himself was reaching the end of his rope.

Truly, Diego pitied Alison, who was in love with a man that strived to be a carbon-copy of their father. She had begun to realize that she'd never have Luther, who would never challenge the boundaries that their father had worked to install between them. The girl with the world on a string, bereft of the one thing she wanted most.

And Luther, to whom Diego had been a life-long shadow, who had always monopolized their father's favor and leaving none left for the rest of them, had begun to realize he'd never truly have his father's love. It made him desperate and reckless, unwilling to hear input from Diego during missions.

Then, one night, a disagreement between them caused two deaths and fourteen causalities when Luther and Diego went head-to-head over rescue strategy in a disastrous hostage situation. Unwilling to listen to Diego's reasoning, their father demanded that, as Number Two, he was to defer to Number One's orders. The 'for the rest of your life' was unsaid but easily inferred, and Diego was out the door by next morning.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Diego was twenty-one, three months into his police academy training, and faring well. The physical exams had been a joke for him, but the protocol and chain of command went slightly against his nature. One night, while Diego was desk-ridden and logging routine patrol reports, he watched as another officer dragged a teenage boy through the front lobby and down to a holding cell. The kid looked to be about fifteen, shivering, sweating, and shrieking general obscenities at the arresting officer. He resembled Klaus at that age.

Twenty minutes later, a senior officer retrieved Diego from his desk for the purpose of babysitting the kid, who was suffering through bouts of withdrawl in one of the overnight cells.

"Hey. Hey!"

"I don't even want to hear it, kid."

"Kid?! And how the fuck old are you? Fuck you, man." Diego ignored him and proceeded to clean under his fingernails with a knife. The kid tried again.

"Look man, can I just have some water? This come-down is gonna kill me."

Diego didn't move from his seat. He swirled the cold dregs of coffee in his paper cup, weighing the pros and cons of leaving to grab a fresh one in the break room.

"Hm. Whaddja take?"

The kid grimaced, clutching his stomach, and Diego could hear him trying to take even breaths.

"Look, I don't know," he gasped out. "I just take whatever he gives me."

Diego frowned. He knew he shouldn't engage the conversation further, but a creeping sense of dread drove him to continue.

"Who gave it to you?"

The kid slowly rolled his forehead back and forth against one of cell bars, seeking its coolness.

"Some guy at the warehouse." And then, he lit up as a thought appeared to occur to him, "Yeah, see that's the guy you guys should go after- look can't we make one of those deals? You know, like, I tell you 'bout the dealer, and you let me outta here?"

Diego huffed a laugh. "Not up to me. You're a minor. Why don't you just focus on detoxing right now." He tried for a gentler tone to soften the blow, watching another wave of gut pain overtake the kid's scrawny form. The boy bit out a whimper.

"You know, it's not just me," he muttered, after his breaths had evened again. His eyes were shut, forehead against the bars where he sat. "There're all sorts of boys there." The kid was crouched into himself like an animal of prey.

The hairs on the back of Diego's neck rose. A hazy memory filtered up to his consciousness. Klaus had described something similar once, the two of them staked out in front of a government building in the middle of the night. Now, he racked his memory for details.

Diego stood abruptly, filling a paper cone with tepid water from the cooler. He knelt down outside the cell, passing the cone through the bars.

"Hey," he started. "I need you to tell me where this warehouse is."

The boy opened his eyes a slit, looking at him blearily.

"I just want to go home," he whispered, between shaky sips of water.

"The warehouse," Diego repeated, tone gentle but firm.

"Canning district. 'S'all I remember. Swear."

Diego looked at the analog clock on the precinct wall. Almost 1:30 am. He bit at the inside of his cheek; he wasn't supposed to leave this post. Still, he shoved a blanket and a plastic bottle of water into the cell and jogged back towards his desk. On his way out, he tapped his colleague Eudora on his shoulder.

"Sargent said for you to watch the kid in the drunk tank." He didn't bother waiting for a response before flitting right into the driver's seat of an unmarked cop car.

Down by the water, the old brick factories stood quiet and stark. The streets were peppered lightly with the homeless, hunkered down for the night on the damp sidewalks. Diego prowled the grid of the streets, looking for anyone moving about with purpose. There was no one.

Then, at the foot of a pair of rusted iron doors, there was a rainbow of paper wristbands littering the concrete. Diego picked one up. They were the generic, peel-and-stick affairs that rave houses gave out to paying guests. Above the mess, there was a haphazard animal head spray painted across both doors: two dark eyes, a long snort, two horns- a bull, maybe? Diego shook his head in bafflement.

He tried to wrestle the doors open, first with heavy fist pounds, then with shoulder heaves, then with high kicks. Not a budge. He put his ear to metal, listening intently. There was a far-away pounding, like bass playing low underground, but Diego couldn't be sure.

It didn't matter. His police radio crackled to life in his belt before Eudora's disembodied voice ordered him back to the precinct. Apparently, the detoxing kid had seized up and then kicked the bucket.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

The next week, Diego tracked down Klaus, who, at the moment, was living in a group house with several artists and a communal mushroom garden. His brother's adaptability and resourcefulness never ceased to astound Diego. It was the first time in four years that the two had seen each other, but Klaus was always Klaus, and they fell back into their dynamic as if no time had passed. Diego bought lunch for his brother and the two of them walked around a nearby park.

"What are you doing with yourself these days?"

Klaus shrugged. "This and that."

"Any ghosts bothering you?"

Klaus snorted and batted his eyelashes with false sincerity. "It's so cute of you to ask, brother dear."

"I left the house," Diego announced. "Joined the police academy."

"Yeah, I sort of figured what with your ride being a patrol vehicle. Soooo kind of you to almost give me a heart attack, by the way." Klaus giggled. "From one academy to the next, Di, imagine that."

Diego frowned. Klaus was high.

"Klaus. I need to ask you about some stuff. Are you still into rave scene?"

His brother's interest was clearly and immediately peaked.

"Diego, Diego, Diego. Are you asking me to be your doorman to the good life?" Klaus sounded scandalized, then delighted. "We could go together! It would-"

"No, Klaus, no," Diego cut his brother off, wincing when his face fell. "Someone is giving underage boys something designer- new, really fucking dangerous. A kid OD'd in our drunk tank last weekend."

Klaus raised his eyebrows, waiting for Diego to make his point.

"Diego, that's not really news. Don't be fucking naïve- it's not a good look on you."

Diego bristled. "Yeah, I know that, asshole. But I'm saying there's a predator out there and someone needs to take care of it."

Klaus scoffed. "The whole world is full of predators, Diego. Take one out, it'll just come back two-fold, like a starfish really… or is it an earthworm?"

Diego snapped his fingers in front of his brother's face.

"Listen to me. It's coming out of a warehouse in can district. I think there's, like, a bull spray-painted on the door."

Klaus's gaze was suddenly sharp and narrow. Diego caught it. 

"You know it." It wasn't a question. Diego watched Klaus dig through the deep pockets of his coat, pulling out a crumbled pack of cigarettes. His lighter sparked several times before the flame took.

"The kid," he questioned on an inhale. "What'd he look like?"

"I dunno- young? Maybe fifteen, at best. Curly hair. And scrawny- a runaway."

"Yeah." Klaus exhaled in a long sigh. He looked tired and faraway. "That sounds like one of Jared's boys." He punctuated this with another long drag from his cigarette.

Diego frowned. Jared? Like, Klaus's Jared?

"What, and you're… not?" Diego was confused.

Klaus smiled, the edges of it like acid.

"Not for a while now. I guess I just… aged out of his target demographic." His jaw was clenched as he turned away. "He tends to like them young."

It felt like a punch to the gut. Diego blinked once, twice, and made sure to clear his throat before continuing. 

"Klaus." It came out hoarse anyways.

"Don't." His eyes were like stone, body coiled to strike if need be. A warning.

Guilt was a pit in Diego's stomach. He looked at his brother, recalling all the times in their childhood that he'd envied Klaus's beauty. His brother had always been pretty, still was. At times, it had been enough to drive him to madness-which he'd then release onto dummies during training. It was unfathomable to Diego, that a man like Jared could have had the world in his hands, only to discard it for something younger. Why hadn't any of their siblings gone after Klaus? The cruelty of it all was enough to make him want to fall to his knees.

"I'm sor-" the words got trapped on their way out and his eyes felt hot. He swallowed and tried again. "Klaus. I'm sorry. I wasn't there for you in the way you needed. Back then." 

Diego shut his eyes against the shame, then opened them when he felt a gentle palm on his cheek. Klaus was frowning, expression bewildered.

"It's okay, Di," Klaus was shaking his head, his tone like he couldn't stand to watch Diego break. "You couldn't have been." Diego clasped Klaus's hand where it lay on his face. With his free hand, he cupped the back of Klaus's neck, bringing their foreheads together. Diego could feel his brother shivering under his hand, could smell the cigarette on his breath.

"I should have never let you leave," Diego whispered, eyes closed. "Should've never let you leave." When he pulled back, Klaus's eyes were bright with tears, but his gaze was filled with baffled curiosity. Diego held it until Klaus averted his and laughed sadly.

"You couldn't have made me do anything. You still can't" His expression was a caricature of sibling provocation. He moved to pull his hand back, but Diego caught both of his wrists, holding them up between their bodies.

"Yes. I can." The words were gentle, but Diego's gaze was unrelenting. Klaus swallowed.

"Oh," he croaked, as if just realizing that Diego's words rang true. He sighed, pulled his wrists free, and ran his hands over his face.

"There's pass phrase."

Diego frowned. What?

"What?"

"To get in. You had the right door. But there's a pass phrase. 'Paris is burning' -but, I mean, it might have changed since then."

"Okay." Diego could feel himself gearing up for a fight. Klaus seemed to notice the signs.

"Diego, listen to me. You're not going to be able to do anything. It's his father, nothing ever sticks. He'll make bail and then'll be out for blood, and he is not a merciful guy."

"Yep. Hear you loud and clear." Diego was already picturing the case of polished knives stashed under his bed.

"Fuck, Di, no," Klaus groaned, reaching for Diego, but the later evaded his grip.

"Lay low this week," he instructed Klaus, gripping his shoulders. Klaus opened his mouth to indignantly dispute the order, so Diego tightened his hold. "I mean it, Klaus. Steer clear." 

His brother then scowled, before flicking the lit cigarette at Diego's feet and turning to walk away. His hands were up in the air, as if he was trying to wash them of the situation as he left.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

It was a Thursday night- or rather, early Friday morning- and Diego had shirked off a mandatory training to stake out the warehouse doors with the painted bull face. So far, about eighty people had disappeared through the doors, usually in large groups of a half-dozen or so, and all decked out in rave gear. The majority of guests entering were either older-looking men, or much younger-looking teen boys, and each time the door opened, a wall of sound, heavy on the bass, escaped into the otherwise empty streets.

Around 3:30, Diego bit the bullet and made his way over. He pounded on the door with a fist until it cracked a sliver. The guy on the other side looked large, bored, and was eyeing Diego's outfit with extreme suspicion. 

Diego rolled his eyes. "Paris is burning," he bit out, almost trying to swallow the words back into his mouth as he spoke them. He felt like a tool. The door opened wider.

"$20 cover," the words were dry and no-nonsense.

Diego briefly considered just decking the guy and shoving his way inside, then forked over the cash instead. In exchange, he received a neon pink wristband.

Inside, a long hallway and set of concrete stairs opened up onto a large space crowded with party-goers, all bathed in black light. Between boots and heels, the factory floor was replete with empty plastic cups, bottles of water, and discarded glow sticks. Diego was enveloped in the deafening roar created by the combination of pounding bass and the presence of eighty-plus people in a single space. He imagined that this what hell was like.

Diego scouted the perimeter of the space with the calm assuredness of a lioness stalking her prey. He stepped around couples making out against the wall and over a man puking violently in one corner. In the back of warehouse, there was a section strewn with floor pillows and a matted fur rug. There were several people lying about, pawing at each other in an aimless, dazed manner. He watched as one figure pulled away from another, revealing a face that Diego had only even seen in papers, printed below salacious headlines that described the scandal of a dalliance between famed, underage Number Four of the Umbrella Academy, and the twenty-five-year-old governor's son. At fourteen, Diego had spent hours studying that face in the papers, as if memorizing the details would allow him to make sense of the entire debacle. It was Jared, but older- more lines on his face, jaw rounded with age.

And the guy with Jared- Diego inhaled shortly. He looked just like Klaus. No. He looked like the men that resembled his brother, the kind that Diego sometimes took home from bars to pin down and fuck. The reminder tasted like bile in his mouth. Those thoughts were banished from his waking thoughts.

Diego watched as this incomprehensible animal from his childhood leaned back, flashing his partner a shark-like grin. The boy, now that Diego looked more closely, was even younger than he initially thought. His gangly limbs and wide, bright eyes betrayed his age.

The rest of the rave fell away around Diego. With a sureness and sense of control that he hadn't felt in years, he stalked up to the pair, pulling the boy up, the back of his shirt fisted in Diego's hand. Fortunately for Diego, whatever the kid had been given made him docile, and he clambered off to the side like a confused lamb. Unfortunately for Diego, Jared had evidently not partaken in the same drug.

"What the fuck, man?" he growled out, moving to sit up. Diego stopped him with a boot to his chest.

"You destroyed by brother." Diego's voice was clear and even, surprising even himself.

"Brother- what? Who the fuck are you?" Jared struggled against Diego's boot, and Diego responded by instead dropping to his knee, the force of it causing the man below him to wheeze.

"Look," he tried, "I really don't know what you're talking about." Diego could sense him becoming scared and it made him feel powerful.

"KLAUS, you sick fuck," the words were an explosion of abhorrence and disgust.

"Klaus?" A fog was suddenly clearing over the man. "Oh- Klaus!" He chuckled, like he was recalling a particularly fond memory. "God, he was a such pretty little thing, wasn't he?" He drawled out like he just couldn't help himself. 

Diego felt effervescent with rage and his body moved on its own. When he finally pulled back, the man's face was in shambles: the cartilage of his nose was exposed and his jaw was hinged to one side. Diego's knuckles were wet and hot with blood.

Beside them, the teen boy was crying and huddled up against a pillow, most likely chalking the whole thing up to a bad trip. The quiet sobbing made him look even younger, and so, for good measure, Diego drove a knife through Jared's upturned palm, pinning it to the wooden floor beneath. Around him, the rave continued, only a handful of patrons having noticed the commotion.

Then Diego hauled himself up, dusted his knees off, and walked straight out of the warehouse.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

That fact that Diego got booted from the academy after everything was pretty much inevitable. After all, he'd pawned his duties off onto another officer, taken a car out without permission, used police resources to track down his wayward, junkie brother, and skipped mandatory training. Oh, and he'd beat the shit out of the governor's son, who'd then wasted no time in reporting him to his chief.

In the end, it was almost a relief to throw down his badge, the weight of ineffectual bureaucracy leaving with it. Diego was not one to be caged in by the unyielding hand of due-process. Though, he did keep a couple of police radios.

A few weeks later, Diego was back at the dingy group house, collecting Klaus for a walk around the park.

"Hmm, last time you pulled up, you were in a cop car. What's this piece of shit?" Klaus asked, kicking at the tires of his new, used car.

"You're such a rude bitch." 

Klaus's laugh was light and airy, and he threw an arm around Diego's shoulders. "Heard about what you did to Jared. You're like my knight in white armor, truly." Klaus batted his eyelashes, one hand clutching his chest.

"Don't be an asshole."

"No, no. How you went out to defend my honor? So manly."

"Yeah well, about seven years too late."

"Yeah well, you weren't shit at fourteen, Di."

"What, and you were?"

"Mm. Thought I was." Klaus bit at one thumb and looked out at a group of children climbing the monkey bars. 

"So did I," Diego admitted after a moment's consideration. Klaus's gaze whipped towards him, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "After Five," Diego continued, "You were always the bravest against Dad."

"Yeah, well. Look where I got myself," Klaus grumbled. His fingers were twitching and Diego knew that any minute now he'd be rummaging around for a smoke.

Later, while they were saying their goodbyes, Diego handed Klaus a small number of pamphlets. Klaus glanced down at them and hissed through his teeth. They were for rehabilitation programs.

"Di…" he whined out.

"I know," Diego cut him off at the pass. "For if- when- you're ready. I'll take you there."

Klaus was already shaking his head, unready to hear his brother, but he did slide them into one of the inner pockets of his coat. It was enough for now.

As Diego pulled away in his car, he tossed out the driver-side window, "I still have my police scanner. So, I'll know if you get arrested, dumbass." The tone was teasing and Klaus heard what he was really saying. He threw a middle finger up in the air as he walked back to the group house, leaving Diego to peel away from the curb in contemplative silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are king

**Author's Note:**

> Might continue this work, perhaps from Diego's POV. I think I'm also going to write about the progression of their relationship once Five returns and they're all back at the academy.
> 
> Let me know what you guys want/what needs work!


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